


Just Wish the Trip was Through

by NAOA



Category: Gambit (Comic), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Motorcycles, Present Tense, Road Trips, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22190533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NAOA/pseuds/NAOA
Summary: Gambit is riding cross country to get back to the mansion and Rogue. Romy, but she's not in it until the end. -oneshot!
Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Rogue
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Just Wish the Trip was Through

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2013 and it was my first attempt to write in first person and honestly I think it holds up better than some of my later present tense narrations.
> 
> The title came from Bob Seeger's "Turn the Page".

The X-man known as Gambit, real name Remy Lebeau, also known by a myriad of other things stops at a small highway diner. He's hungry. He's been driving cross country for days now, heading back to the X-man mansion. He hopes that when he gets there he'll see his favorite X-woman and she'll throw her arms around him. She can't kiss him but he's got this fantasy that she'll throw her arms around his neck anyway and hold on real tight for a real long time. He's got other fantasies too but it's best he keeps them to himself.

He grinds his bike's kickstand into the gravel in front of the diner and dismounts. It's cold out, he's glad he has his coat. He's not from a cold place. He doesn't like the cold. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and walks up to the the front doors, feet crunching along on the gravel rocks beneath them. A bell dings as he enters, pretty typical of such a place. There are only a few people there this early in the morning. Two truckers are hunched over their morning coffee. They don't look up as he enters. A woman with her little boy is in the corner, she's trying to get the kid to finish his breakfast but he's squirming and making a fuss. She looks tired, the kids' been nothing but trouble since he got up. She sighs and gives up.

Crisp, sharp early morning light filters in through the windows, making everything look an unnaturally bright white color. If he wasn't wearing his sunglasses, he would have been squinting. As it is, it's already too bright for his tastes. He sits down at a booth and waits for the waitress to make her tired way over to him. She's been talking to the truckers.

She's thin, smoker thin, still clinging to her eighties perm. She's had the same hairstyle since she was sixteen. Same job too. She wares a little too much makeup for a woman her age and maybe her heels are a little too high. Maybe she swings her hips a little too hopefully. But he's not judging. He doesn't have a reason to. Or a right to. She smiles, drumming her long, painted nails on her hip. She smiles at him. Her teeth are yellow from years of smoking but he doesn't hold it against her. In years to come he suspects his might look the same way. He gives her a smile of his own and orders.

She's a little curious about his accent and he tells her he's from New Orleans. She tells him she's always wanted to go there but the closest she's ever gotten is just a few miles out of town one time. She tells him she's never really been anywhere. He smiles and tells her she should visit. She never will though. She shuffles off to give his order to the cook. A large, aging man who once thought he'd be a renowned chef buts' been working the same job his father had since he was twenty-five. He's a good cook, even if he isn't 'renowned'.

The waitress watches Remy for a few minutes. Of coarse she has no idea who or what he is but he's been wearing shades since he got in and she's curious. He read the menu so she knows he can't be blind. She wonders if she could trick him into telling. She's a god one for talking. She always talked a little too much when she was young. She probably still does now. She doesn't know. She moves from the counter to lean over his table. Just cause she's never been anywhere doesn't mean she's not curious about places outside of her hometown. She asks him questions about New Orleans. He's happy to answer, he hasn't talked to anyone in days and she's not unfriendly. He tells her all about Mardi Gras, she's fascinated and he was always one to keep an audience captivated. She leaves only shortly when his food is done and he digs in in front of her. He starving. Eggs, sausage, biscuits and gravy. The old cook does a good job. The food is greasy and hot and filling. Just what he's been needing.

The waitress leaves momentarily to help a new customer. A girl. She came in with a trucker but they don't sit together and he doesn't buy her breakfast even though they just spent the last thirty miles together. She looks tired and her clothes have a rumpled look about them, like she wore them yesterday and now she's wearing them again today. Truth is, that's just what happened. Yesterday she put a lot of effort into making herself look pretty and nice but this morning she could care less. The waitress doesn't mind. She's used to seeing girls like her. This is a truck stop. They come in all the time and as long as the pay and leave a decent tip it doesn't mean a thing to her.

She returns to the X-man's table, curious to hear more about a place as exotic as New Orleans though truth be told, she'd be happy to hear about any place that isn't her home town. She has dreams and fantasies that she'll go to these places one day, dreams just like a girl would have but she never will. She had the chance once when she was young but she'd been too scared to do it then and then she got a life and it's kept her in place. Still, it's nice to have fantasies.

He tells her a bit more of his city, adding in some French to color things up. He feels a bit like a tourism add but it's what people like to hear. His French is off, not quite the french they teach in schools. It makes him sound more exotic. She likes it but she can't tell the difference. She took French in high school but she can't remember any of it now.

She refills his coffee mug and asks him why he's traveling. She asks him if he's going back to New Orleans. He tells her he's not. He tells her he's going to New York and she feels a stab of longing. It's another place she's never been and she'll never go. She asks him what it's like there and he tells her. He's got no reason not to and now that he's finished eating he wants to sit back and digest. He's glad of the company.

He tells her about New York, telling her the things she wants to know. How tall the buildings are in New York City, although that's not where he's headed. He tells her about the big houses in Westchester which is where he's going. Then he tells her about other places he's been. The way she stares at him makes him feel a bit like he's the older one, talking to a kid. But there's sadness behind her eyes because she knows she'll never go to these places. He calls her 'Chere' hoping to make her feel better. She's a little old for him to be calling her that and she doesn't know what the word means but it makes her happy because she's sure it's something nice. She loves his accent and he's patient. Or maybe he's just tired. She can't tell. She's tired herself, she's been up since three A.M. Of coarse he's been up all night driving but there's no way for he to know.

He smiles at her, making her heart beat faster. He's too young for her and she knows it. And she's married and has been married for years and she's not about to go and ruin that. But still, she thinks he's good looking and it's nice to have fantasies cause that's all she has now. Dreams and fantasies that will never come true. She dreams her husband will take her on vacation to the Bahamas but that's not going to happen. Still. It's nice to dream and she loves her husband and wouldn't ever leave him. And really, she's not that unhappy with her life. Even if she was, it's been too long and change would only unsettle her. She's grown complacent. She talks of moving to new and wilder places but if she ever really got that opportunity she wouldn't go. She doesn't know any other life.

He captivates her with charming stories told with a charming accent. He knows he's being this way and he's happy to have so much attention. The woman with the little boy leaves the diner and the bell dings behind them, the boy is trying to pull away from his mother. He's an independent sort of boy with more energy that he knows what to do with. It gets him into trouble.

The bell reminds the X-man that he should get on the road. He hates to leave he warmth of the diner and the pleasant company he's been keeping but he has to get home. He's got people waiting for him and a lovely lady that's been on his mind since he left home the month before. God, he misses her.

He says goodbye to the waitress, finding a break in their conversation. He hopes he hasn't been to abrupt. But weather or not he has, he needs to be getting back on the road. He stands up and kisses her hand, making her blush. He says goodbye in French, befuddling her and leaving her with a sense of wonder. He's half way to the door when for some reason he turns around and raises his sunglasses above his eyes. Only for a split second but long enough for her to get a good look. Her moth falls open and he winks, lowering the glasses and stepping out the door.

He doesn't know why he did it. Only that he did. Only that he found her expression amusing. He wonders if she'll put the pieces together and figure out that he's a mutant. Maybe she'll think he's an alien or maybe she'll think she imagined it. He doesn't know but whatever she does, he knows he's made her day a little more interesting. He smiles to himself and is about to swing his leg over the bike when something catches his attention. It's the girl who came in with the trucker. She's trying to straighten out her too short skirt and fluff up her big, messy hair that he's sure yesterday was permed to perfection.

She's got a run in her stocking, she's probably hoping he won't notice. He pretends he doesn't. She smiles. She knows he knows what she is. She knows he knows what she does too. But the she saw his eyes and she knows what he is too. She asks which direction he's going. He points and she's relieved that he's going her way. She asks for a ride. She's tired and hoping she won't have to do anything. She doesn't have to worry. He's only got one girl on his mind at the moment and right now things are going great between him and that girl, he wouldn't screw with that for the world.

He tells her she's welcome to a ride. He climbs on and she swings around behind him. She's ridden with bikers before, she knows where to hold and how to sit so that she'll be most comfortable. Her skirt rides up her legs but there's nothing she can do. Anyway, it's not like she's terribly averse to showing her legs either. She holds on tight as the bike takes off.

He's not used to having a passenger and feels like he should drive more carefully. He doesn't usually when he's alone. There's no fun in that. They don't talk. They don't have anything to say to each other and even if they did it wouldn't really matter because they'd have to shout and it would be hard to hear over the wind. He drives fast but not as fast as he usually would. Still, he's over the speed limit. But this is highway land. It's not the interstate and it's not city streets. He hasn't seen a car in days. The chance of running into a cop is almost zero. He's been driving past farms and woods for miles. It's boring but it's not unpretty. When he was out west he saw deserts and rocks. He'd seen poor little towns with farmers still trying to farm the dry earth that never yielded enough crop. Everything east of the Rockies had been flat. Mind numbingly flat and the old highways had been straight. Sometimes it all looked the same but there was a kind of beauty in it. Red deserts and poor farmers, farmers who refused to leave because they'd worked that land all their lives and couldn't think of moving now. He'd thought them crazy and yet respected them at the same time.

The further east he'd gotten the greener the scenery became. Flat green farms. Cows, horses, barns. He'd seen abandoned houses, even slept in a few when he couldn't find a roadside motel. Once he'd woken up to learn that the barn he'd been sleeping in was not so abandoned. The man had had a shot gun pointed at his face. He'd had to do some quick talking to get out of that one. Lucky talking was a talent he possessed. He'd managed to get breakfast out of the whole ordeal. It was amazing how different one part of the country had looked from another and the further east he went the more people he saw. The girl on the bike behind him hadn't spoken a word for miles. He could feel her stomach pressed against him. It moved when she breathed. Her thighs were digging into his but he couldn't feel it. His legs were numb from hours and hours of driving. The vibrating of the engine had killed all feeling in his legs yet he loved the sensation it induced.

He wondered if she'd seen the change in the country as he had. He wondered if she appreciated it. And it was funny, despite having a person so physically close, he felt all alone. All the way, she never said a word.

He stopped at a gas station to fill the tank up and waited for her to get done inside. He was surprised when she bought him a sandwich. Still she never said a word. He hair was straight now. The perm had been fake. Just cheep hair rollers. She still looked pretty. Pretty but tired. The gas station attendant didn't hide that he was staring. He hardly ever got customers and he lived alone. And even though he hardly ever spoke more than two words to anyone and even though months could pass before he'd see a single soul he knew what they were. A hooker and a mutant. He knew what they were. He didn't talk to them but he watched them. The girl finally said something quiet to the mutant and he said something quiet back. Then they left and he went back to his newspaper, shaking his head at the world. He was old and he felt it was much too large for him.

Back on the road, Remy wants to talk to the girl, he's feeling lonely but she never speaks and so he does most of the talking. He tells her about some of the places he's been and he can tell she's listening but then he laps back into silence because he really can't think of anything worthwhile to say. They ride on in silence.

The girl doesn't think of him as a threat, even if he did she'd be okay with it. She's lived a hard life and she's strong. She rests her head on his back and watches farms and fields rush by. He's been decent to her so far, she hasn't known him long enough to call him kind but she likes to think he is. She's got a fantasy that one day she'll meet a man like him and he'll sweep her away from the life she's living now. She doesn't know if it'll happen but she likes to think it will and she's young so there's still time. She closes her eyes and rests, letting herself feel vulnerable against him.

They say goodbye in Missouri. She goes off with another trucker and they never see each other again. He doesn't really think about her, he didn't get to know her. He's not even sure what her name was. Star, Vivian, Sarah. He can't remember. He rides the rest of the way to Westchster alone. Through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, all those states where there's nothing really there. New England is different. It's so much more populated than the rest of the county and yet he's going through it's uninhabited lands. All he can think of is the girl he's trying to get home to see. Her, and the warm bed he's counting on. Maybe if he has the energy he'll cook himself up something to eat before he hits the sack. He doesn't know but the closer he gets to Westchester the better the fantasy sounds. He calls ahead when he gets close, telling them he's near. He hopes his girl hears. He hopes he'll wait for him. He can't wait to see her.

If she doesn't throw her arms around him, he knows he's liable to throw his around her. Maybe he can't actually touch her but he still wants to feel her. Wants her warmth and body near him. Wants to know that she's not just a fantasy. Wants to smell that beautiful smell that lingers around her hair that he can never quite place and yet recognizes instantly as hers. There's a completely human desire in him to hold the one he loves. A desire to not just be close to her but physically close. Even if he can't touch her skin he still wants to hold her. Wants to be near her.

He can see the mansion up ahead and his heart actually speeds up when he sees her on the front porch. She's sitting there waiting for him. Knees drawn up to her chest and arms folded. The wind is strong and it's blowing her mass of curly brown hair all around. She looks as pretty as a picture to him and knowing that he's got even a few more feet to cover before he can hold her is physically painful.

She hears the roar of his engine and looks up, rising from her seat into the air to get a better look and she spots him in the distance. He can see her smile. He speeds up, wanting to cover the distance between them as quickly as he can. He pulls inside the gate and rides right up, right to the front steps. And all his fantasies over the last month come true. She flies right into his arms and hugs him. And he gets to hold her as long as he wants. They go together inside the mansion, leaving his bike parked outside. It's beaten and tired looking now from being ridden so long and for such a distance and so is he. He's tired from the road and worn from his troubles but at the moment nothing in the entire world matters to him except what's in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I think it get's a little long winded and a little sappy at points but over all I'm still pretty pleased with this story. I wrote it as a teenager and am pleased with how it turned out as my first time writing present tense narration. Thanks for reading and I hope you guys enjoyed too!


End file.
